AN: This is...incredibly short. :/ Basically, I've been frustrated with my writing and this was an experiment to help me get back on track. Also, I wanted to try writing Dante in a negative light without taking away from him. Hence, this was born. And, though this really is about Dante, you could probably apply it to Sparda or Nero, too. :/Anywho. Hope y'all like it. Read, review, if ya don't feel like reviewing...thankies for reading. :) Cheers.
My name is Annie and I should have died two weeks ago. Though that is the reason, it isn't my purpose in feeling like this.
The fact of the matter is: I hate the demon who saved my life.
I see him in town everyday. Smiling, talking, laughing. Enjoying the day like the rest of us. And everyone accepts him. Why? How can they forget who, what he is? Is he so deceptive or do they just not care?
I care. Perhaps it's because I can see something in him, lurking just out of sight. To me, he radiates malevolence. I can't face him.
He scares me. I've never felt that way about any one before; not about the bullies at school or my father when he drank. This fear is…is different. It makes me freeze up and stare, wide-eyed as I subconsciously prepare for the killing blow that never comes. So I can't help but think: why doesn't he attack? Does he truly believe he can help us? Is he so desperate to convince himself that he isn't what he is?
One day…he won't be able to keep the charade up. One day, we will regret our decisions. Our trust. When that day comes, will we look to the heavens and ask God to save us? Will he? Why should he?
We put out fate in the hands of a devil and one day we will reap the bloody rewards.